In Small Print
by sassywriterchick
Summary: She will always be his muse—LoganVeronica


The parts in italics are Logan's writing.

Logan – Jackson

Veronica – Elizabeth

**In Small Print **

"You know, you have some good potential here Mr. Echolls," The professor says, leaning on the edge of her desk and looking at him with hopeful eyes. Logan shrugs absentmindedly, the edges of his fingers playing with his long sleeves. He isn't quite sure why he's sitting here, other than the fact that the teacher has called him back.

"So what?"

"_So,_ I think you could really make a career out of this," the Professor smiles warmly at him, and he chooses to avoid her gaze. "This writing is very good."

"I don't really need the money," he says, because it's true. "I was thinking more along the lines of _not_ having a career."

"All you rich kids are the same," The Professor is frustrated as she throws her hands in the air and looks him in the eye with an angry sort of look. "Why did you even start coming back to class then Mr. Echolls?"

"Because I was going to get kicked out," he mumbles, but it's mostly just an empty excuse.

"We both know that's _not_ true."

"What do you want me to say?" he asks, his anger starting to cloud his thoughts.

"The truth."

"Fine, my counselor thought it would best if I actually attended classes instead of getting high and drunk after I overdosed last month." He expects the teacher to look disgusted, to perhaps rescind her comment, but instead she looks more excited, like him overdosing is helping his potential writing career.

"Give it a try," she urges, "I really think you could be a famous author. You just need to find an inspiration—a muse."

"Like what?"

"What made you start to drink like that?" she suggests.

_"This is the moment Logan—"_

"A girl," he replies before he can really think about it.

"What was her name?" The professor only looks curious now.

Logan doesn't answer but instead deems this conversation as officially over, standing up and shoving his chair back in with perhaps a little more force than necessary.

"Please think about it Mr. Echolls."

He doesn't tell that he already is.

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_Think of a muse Logan, _he tells himself, sitting at his computer, the black cursor mocking him as he sits. He closes his eyes, trying to picture something that could _inspire _him.

Like always, Veronica is taking up all the space behind his eyelids. This time though, instead of looking flushed, her lips chapped and her hair messy, she looks like she did the day he found out she cut her hair. Her black eyeliner makes her look like a raccoon because she doesn't know how to apply it just yet, and her hair falls in short uneven waves to her chin. She's looking like him like a hard-ass, and he feels the usual plummet when she looks at him like that, like he's leaped off the side of a building.

He opens his eyes and sets his hands to the keyboard, his fingers flying as the thoughts strike his mind like wildfire.

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_She looks beautiful, but he doesn't tell her that. He thinks her voice sounds like music even when she's calling him a jackass, but he doesn't tell her that either. _

_ She leans against the bars of the jail cell, her smirk clear and visible. _

_ "So what am I bailing you out for this time?" Elizabeth asks him coyly, taunting him through the bars. _

_"I have no idea," Jackson shrugs, "When have they started using actual reasons for putting me in prison?"_

_ "Maybe if you weren't such a psycho, they wouldn't have to put you in here in the first place." _

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"So did you consider it?" The Professor looks eagerly at him the next day, and he nods. "So?" she prompts further.

He's about to tell her what he's planned from the beginning, that yes he thought about it but she could go fuck it if she wanted to read his story – when he notices the hopeful look in her eyes.

"I decided to give it a shot," he says, and she smiles, the laughter lines at the corners of her eyes crinkling. He doesn't tell her that he stayed up until two in the morning writing.

"I'd love to read it if I could," she says, "But only when you're ready." Logan nods, biting at his bottom lip.

"Sure," he says nervously, and then goes to take his seat because he's not used to someone other than Veronica having an actual _interest_ in his wellbeing.

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_"Why don't you try caring for once Jack?" Elizabeth demands, her hand moving to punch him in the arm, frustrated tears coming to her eyes. He wants to tell her he does care, but all he does is nod his head like a docile dog waiting to be fed. _

_ "Thanks for bailing me out."_

_ "Sure. That's what we do for each other anyways, isn't it?" Elizabeth looks really frustrated now, her teeth biting down on her lips, her hands wringing by her sides. "Don't you care about your well-being at all?"_

_ "No," Jackson shrugs, figuring that telling the truth would be the best option. _

_ "Well why the hell not?!" Elizabeth shouts at him, tears burning into her eyes. He reaches out a hand, but she jerks away. "I'm so tired of playing these games Jack." _

_ "I know," he shakes his head. "I'm sick of trying to believe in myself. Don't you see that?"_

_ "Well I'll just have to believe in you enough for both of us." _

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"I want to help you get this published," The Professor (who's actual name is Caroline) says, and Logan looks at her in alarm.

"_Publish_ it?" he clarifies, as she hands back his rough draft. "It's still in the revision process—"

"No it's not. It's absolutely perfect!" she cries, jumping to her feet. She's always been a bit to excited to read his work, and now he thinks he's done her in.

"You really think so?" Logan asks, blinking rapidly as if to make sure she's heard him right.

"Oh yes – I so was not expecting Jackson to have such a _bitter_ secret like child abuse – and that moment when Elizabeth – Oh it was beautiful!"

Logan sits back, stunned, looking down at the papers in his grip. Three hundred pages of him basically stringing words together to resemble a story and she thinks it's _good_?

"What part was your favorite?" he asks her again, a smile working onto his face.

"When Elizabeth finds out Jackson has been abused by his Father all his life – I was on the verge of having a mental breakdown," she gushes, and Logan looks down at his papers again. Something like hope prickles at his insides, and he dares to look up at her again. She's always been very kind to him, a sort of motherly figure in the absence of his own.

"Do you really think I could publish this?" he asks. It's been a year since she sat him down and told him he should write, and he really thinks he shouldn't have finished it this _fast_.

"You have to!" she bounces out of her chair, clapping her hands. "I can help you do it and everything. I just have one question."

"Yes?"

"Was the girl – the girl who made you drink I mean – was she your muse?" Logan looks down at his papers again, and he sees the shine of her blonde hair, the glint of her blue eyes.

"Yeah," he mumbles.

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_"Look, you're being framed for murder," Elizabeth snaps, stepping forward. "It's not the time to be making _jokes_." _

_ He's at her house and it's in the middle of the night. He doesn't know why he's here exactly, but he's climbed through his window and her's to get here, and isn't expecting to go home until dawn. She's asked him to come under these conditions because her Dad doesn't trust him anymore. _

_ "It's exactly the time to be making jokes Sugarpuss," he jokes, "And don't mind me, this is not my first rodeo on the criminal block." Elizabeth's eyes soften at this statement and she reaches out a hand to perhaps pat him on the shoulder. He of course mistakes it for her wanting to touch his back and flinches away._

_ "What is it?"_

_ "I didn't just come here to talk about the case."_

_ "Well spill."_

_ "I can't go to the hospital," he tells her seriously, "But I think these might get infected if they don't get treated and Mom's too drunk and I can't reach-" she looks confused and he stops rambling and instead gets on with the program, shrugging off his jacket and agonizingly lifting his shirt over his head. _

_ Elizabeth gasps. "What happened to you?!" she cries, and he knows what she's seeing because while he hasn't looked at these particular gashes, he's seen them a hundred times before. Besides, he can feel the large welts that extend from his shoulder to mid back, several of them, each with the imprint of a silver buckle._

_ "Let's just say dear old Pops wasn't very happy with me getting charged for murder," he smiles at her, and she looks to be on the verge of tears. "Can't keep some things from him forever I guess." _

_ "How long?"_

_ "How long what?" _

_ "How long has this been going on?" _

_ "Since as long as I can remember," he answers truthfully, and she seems to be collecting herself. _

_ "We've been friends for _five years_ Jack," she whispers, "And you never thought to tell me?" He doesn't answer her, and instead she goes to get her medical kit. When she comes back, she instructs him to sit on the bed while she tries to apply disinfectant to his mess of a back. _

_ "I didn't know how," he finally says, "And for a while I didn't even think it was wrong. I just thought it was how the world worked." _

_ She dabs at a cut with a cloth and he hisses through his teeth. _

_ "I'm going to figure out how to make it stop," she decides, and he turns around. _

_ "No Lizzie, you can't. Promise me you won't."_

_ "I will," she promises, "Because you're my best friend Jackson. And best friends don't let these things happen."_

_ He bites his tongue and doesn't say that he wants to be more than friends at this point. _

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"So what's your dedication going to be?" Caroline asks him, and Logan looks up at her in alarm.

"My _dedication_?" he repeats, staring at his hands.

"Yes Logan, your dedication. Every book needs one."

"I'll dedicate it to you," he says automatically, but she only shakes her head.

"Make it special."

"Okay," he says, "But could you add it?" Caroline does all the formatting, even if he is the writer. She nods, and he takes a piece of paper and scribbles a couple words across it.

_To epic love stories. _He writes in his blockish lettering, and then shoves it towards his teacher.

"There's my dedication. Now if you don't mind, I need to get to my sociology class."

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_"You know," Jackson says, "I thought that we were epic." Elizabeth looks at him, but it doesn't feel like she's really seeing him – not anymore. _

_ "You think so?" she asks him, with a sad little smile. _

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Despite Caroline's insistent pondering that his book is going to be a _success_, Logan is still surprised that it becomes practically an overnight success. He's used a penname of course, and it amazes him that someone is actually reading it because they like it, and _not_ just because he's Aaron Echolls' son.

Nobody knows, save Caroline, that he's the actual author of this book. Not even Dick, who he still lives with. It's enough though, it like a secret that he holds onto, something that's not replacing Veronica but making life without her bearable, because when he's having Jackson do all the things he should've done, it almost makes it true.

Dick does complain about how much time Logan now spends on his laptop, insisting that if he's going to start channeling Mac, he should at least do it while surfing. Of course, Dick doesn't really get the concept that computers _aren't waterproof_, but even his friend's usual antics to get him fired up don't work.

The only thing that makes him feel like he has a handle on his life is writing. Everything else has gone to hell, his Mother committed suicide, his Father murdered and slept with his girlfriend, Veronica left, but it's all okay now. He can fix it all in writing. He can make Jackson save his Mother, make him not give up so easily with Elizabeth, make him go after her. In his writing, the relationship between Elizabeth and Jackson never has to end.

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_"Thank you for saving me," Elizabeth blushes, he knows she doesn't like to admit that sometimes she _needs_ his help. _

_ "No problem," he replies, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "You okay?"_

_ "Yeah," she says, and then like it's instinct, she leans forward and kisses the corner of his mouth. Her lips are soft and warm and he pulls back to look at her in shock, but she's already turning away, shaking her head like she thinks she's crazy. In a fluid motion he grabs her arm and pirouettes her back towards him, smashing his lips against her's in a hungry embrace. _

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He graduates from Hearst, still not telling anyone that he's the author of the fabulous Elizabeth Hanks series with two books and a third one coming out. Nobody knows except Caroline, and his old Professor makes him promise to keep in touch. He surprises himself when he thanks her.

"Without this—I think I probably would've died," he tells her honestly, and she gives him a hug. She's been more his Mother these past three years than his own ever was, and he's rather sad he won't see her every day.

"I still want to read all your rough drafts!" she says happily, and he nods.

"Of course," he responds, and when he leaves her office he's a little sad and he doesn't know why.

Of course, writing two successful books before he got out of college hadn't exactly been on his bucket list, but now he can see that maybe his future was always going to lead to this.

He can't help but wonder that in the three years since the first book has come out, if Veronica has read it. He wonders if she knew that he had written it for her, wonders if she'd read the dedication and saw herself reflected within the pages.

Veronica had always had such high expectations of him, and he wonders if he's finally fulfilled the picture of him she had painted in his mind. He wonders if somewhere out there, she's proud of him.

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_"Are you drunk?" Elizabeth asks, leaning down to look him in the eyes. He giggles, reaching out for her. His arms loop around her waist and he pulls her down into him, and she squirms uncomfortably. _

_ "Maybe a little," he answers, and she looks down at him with disappointment written in every line of her face. _

_ "I'm gone for a year," she shakes her head, "And you become this?" _

_ "It's 'cause I missed you. I still miss you."_

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It's a quiet day when her friend/co-worker Callie drops a book on her desk. It's rarely peaceful in the FBI , but Veronica was currently benched and had nothing to do other then make a necklace out of paper clips.

"What's this?"

"I couldn't take looking at your pathetic-ness anymore. I know you've been suspended to desk work, but _seriously_."

"I'd be fine if there was paperwork to actually _do_," Veronica says, shaking her head.

"No you wouldn't. You hate paperwork. It's why I bring salvation," Callie points to the book, and Veronica picks it up, sliding the cover in-between her fingers.

"Painted Nails and Prison Bars?" Veronica asks, raising one eyebrow. "By L. Evans?"

"I knew you hadn't read it before – you're probably like the only person in the world who hasn't, but _whatever_. It's right up your alley. Oh and make sure to read the dedication!"

"The dedication?" Veronica asks, confused. Not many people actually _read_ dedications.

"All of his dedications are totally sweet. Everyone keeps trying to figure out who wrote the books and who his dedications are to, because it's a total mystery."

Veronica flips open the page to the dedication, and her heart stops in her chest. She freezes, her mind going blank. Callie starts gushing about it, but Veronica doesn't hear her voice. She hears a very different voice, one that's drunk and oh so sweet.

_"I thought our story was epic, you and me."_

She traces the words _To epic love stories, _and looks back up at Callie. "All the dedications are like this?"

Callie nods. "There's only two books, but the second one is 'to the ones that don't come easy.'"

Veronica flips open the book to the first page, an unfamiliar feeling filling her chest and choking off any further questions she might have. Callie obviously assumes that her friend is just eager to read, and in some parts she is. In some parts, she's dreading reading his words. She's already feeling the same feeling that she felt that day in the cafeteria when Piz asked her if she truly knew the difference between a good and a bad thing.

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_"I love you Lizzie. I love you. Do you love me?" _

_ She hesitates. _

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"You look tired," Callie greets, as Veronica dozes off at her desk, leaning against her palm.

"Thanks," Veronica says sarcastically.

"So did you read it?" Callie demands, and Veronica locks eyes with her. Of course she's read it, she's read every last word—twice. She's affirmed her original suspicions, that L. Evans is just another word for _Logan Echolls_. Of course, she doubts anyone else can tell that it's him, because most of the things that he's written down are things only she knows. Well, now she and the rest of the world.

"Yes," Veronica rubs at her eyes, "So why do people want to figure out who wrote it?"

"So they can get him to sign their books, _duh_," Callie says, "I mean he's seriously a writing god. Maybe you can help with my investigation?"

"What investigation?"

"To finding out who he is," Callie squeals, "I mean you liked it right? Isn't Elizabeth just the best?"

"She makes to many mistakes," Veronica fidgets with the files on her desk, "She's the one who screws everything up with Jackson. He's the one who's always there for her, but instead she goes and dates Dylan."

"I think most would say it's the other way around," Callie shakes her head. "I mean, Jackson did fuck up a lot."

"But in the end," Veronica says, "Elizabeth is the reason they never got back together. She never forgave him, and in doing so, they never got back together."

"Hey, never say never!" Callie says, and then frowns. "But they break up in the end of the second—did you read both?!"

"Maybe," Veronica shuts her eyes, her temples aching.

"Well I believe that they will get back together in the third book. They just _have_ to. Elizabeth will forgive him for being a major fuck-up—"

"But he _wasn't_ the fuck-up," Veronica says, standing up, everything falling into place. "She wasn't the one who could just _trust_ him. I mean, he was always there for her if she needed anything, but she never needed anything." Her voice sinks, her hands tremble.

"God, chill out V. It's just a book."

_But it's not. _

"In the end, Elizabeth is the one who's screwed up," Veronica says, and a tear slips down her cheek through her exhaustion. Callie is looking seriously freaked out now.

"Are you feeling okay Veronica?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I'm really not."

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_"I didn't mean to hurt you," he begs her, his hand moving to wrap around her wrist._

_ "Of course you didn't!" she shrieks, "I mean you never do, do you? You never think Jack, all you do is blunder through life without thinking about the people you might affect." She shakes her head, "I don't think this is working."_

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Logan is contemplating the last chapter of the third book, tapping his fingernail against the keyboard. He was originally going to have Elizabeth come back and kiss Jackson, but now the ending feels almost like it's missing something.

Maybe it's because Veronica didn't come back in the end. Maybe it's because he doesn't have anything to really base this chapter off of, while the rest of the stories, at least the parts about Elizabeth and Jackson's relationship, was based off his own experiences. This never happened, and it makes him sad to write it out, like it's just a lame excuse for begging to get her back.

There's a knock at the door, he lives on his own in an apartment now. It makes the whole secrecy thing about his writing easier. He still hasn't told anyone, and it's rather funny to see the whole Internet wondering who he is. He's almost certain nobody has figured him out yet.

He pulls open the door, expecting it to be the pizza delivery guy. He's ordered like an _hour_ ago and it's still not here yet. The person is a shadow leaning against the railing outside, their face hidden.

"Hello?" he asks, and the person turns around.

"Hey Logan," Veronica says nervously, stepping into the light. His mouth drops open. He was not expecting this, out of all the people that could've come knocking, it was _Veronica_?

"Veronica?" his voice shakes, and she takes another step forward.

"Hey," she bites at her lip, "I just wanted to see you, because, well—" she breaks off, takes a deep breath, and starts again. "I read your books."

"Why don't you come inside?" he asks, pulling her into the small apartment. "I'm sure you're really pissed—" he begins, because he kind of has opened up all their relationship problems to the world, even if no one knows it's him and Veronica.

"I'm not mad," she assures him, and she looks really nervous. "I just—god Logan. It just made me realize—" she stops again, obviously searching for words.

"Made you realize that I'm an arrogant jackass?" he offers up, and she shakes her head.

"It made me realize what a bitch I was for not forgiving you about the Madison thing," she says, surprising him. "Because you were the one next to me through all that, and I just let that go like it was nothing. I let _you_ go. It was a mistake and I'm—I'm so sorry." She starts to cry, and Logan steps forward and pulls her into his arms tightly.

"You weren't the one who fucked us up Ronnie," he whispers, "That was all me."

"We fucked each other up," she mumbles into his shirt, "But I'm so tired of trying to forget you."

"I'm really tired of trying to come up with a happy ending."

She pulls back, and twisting her face upwards, meeting his lips. She pulls him close, and she smells like marshmallows and promises, and tastes like tears.

"But I think I've found one now," he whispers against her mouth, and she laughs.

"I can give you several more," she assures him.


End file.
